I was walking around the town today and I came across a man with a goat for sale. I asked the man, “How much for that goat?” And he says, “This goat? Oh this goat is not for sale.” So I made on my merry way. Walking home I was thinking about how much I would have enjoyed owning that goat. I probably would have named it Edmund. Or maybe Garry Von Pebbles? Whatever I would have named it, I would have loved it just the same. I thought about the Christmases with the goat, now lost forever. Only to be remembered in my darkest hours of sorrow and regret. Maybe I should have killed the man? Or maybe I should just let it all go.